Brothers Divided
by Dork Overload
Summary: For the sake of his brother, he puts on a brave face. Unfortunatly, the mask is just as much for his sake as his brother's.


Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own _Axis Powers: Hetalia_. No, I jsut have a Prussia keychain, who happens to be my favorite country/character (And yes, I believe that he is secretly living in Germany's basement).

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><p>He knew it was childish, but he did it anyways, breaking free of Russia's hold and sprinting back towards that cold, formidable wall. The sentries posted there watched him warily, but he knew they would not shoot.<p>

"West!" he screamed, slamming his body into the cold stone structure.

"_Bruder?" _the shouted reply echoed through the air, straining and scrambling to reach the ears of the one on the other side of the wall. "You're supposed to go with Russia…"

"Don't lecture me right now, damn it!" he knew his voice was cracking in an un-awesome way, and he knew he couldn't let his little brother hear. He fumbled for words. "I didn't want to just leave you without saying goodbye."

But they'd had plenty of time to say goodbye, America, France, and Britain watching from one end of the stark meeting room while Russia lurked on the other as the two brothers embraced. He remembered hearing the creak of his brother's gloves as they fisted in his blue uniform. He had tried to maintain his air of awesomeness, smiling as he tried to ruffle West's slicked-back hair.

"Relax," he had said. "I won't be gone very long. Besides, you can take care of yourself. After all, you had the awesome me to teach you!" He remembered looking over West's shoulder, but none of the Allies would meet his bloody-red gaze.

"I'll think of it as a break from babysitting you." He appreciated his brother's joke with a laugh, but glared as Russia's large, gloved hand dropped onto his shoulder.

"Time to go!" That nasty, childlike smile was coupled with a singsong voice. He barely restrained himself from punching right in between those violet eyes. His brother's squeezing hand on his elbow reminded him that this was the price they had to pay.

"Take care of yourself, _bruder_." West murmured, enveloping him in one last, crushing hug. Then Russia was steering him towards the door as he craned his neck to look back one more time. West's shoulders were squared, his back ramrod straight as always, but his face was blank as America, Britain, and France came forward to lead him away.

They had gone over the wall, the Russian's hand spreading a chill through his body to his very bones. The large man was humming and saying something about becoming one, but where he would have once answered with dismissive laughter, his throat choked him as his whole body shook. West would be fine. Italy could visit him, and the Allies weren't malicious. The war was over, and they understood Germany could only do what his boss willed. West would be fine. West would not be at the mercy of Russia.

At the wall, he was shouting himself raw, straining to hear his little brother's voice not so far away. "Don't forget to feed Gilbird for me! He's spoiled, so give him lots of beer!"

"I will!"

He rubbed his eyes. He wouldn't point out how it was a miracle West wasn't arguing with him about his bird. "And don't you dare throw away my awesome diary collection!"

"I don't even know where you keep it!"

They both knew it was stashed in boxes under his bed.

"Don't rent out my room to anyone! And don't forget to renew my awesome magazine subscriptions!" Russia's hand was on his shoulder again, and he wrestled with it as the stronger country started to drag him away bodily. He stifled a cry as fingers dug into his arm socket.

He smiled his patented awesome smile even though his brother couldn't see. The violet-eyed country laughed quietly as he wrapped an arm around the Prussian's waist and wrenched hard. He stumbled forward only to be dragged upright again. He wasn't cold anymore, but the shaking only got worse. Still he struggled against Russia's grasp until he was flung bodily over broad shoulders.

"West!" he screamed. He scrubbed his face, and his gloves were damp. "I'm sorry!" He twisted wildly in the bruising grip of the large country. His voice was hoarse and strained as Russia squeezed him. "I'm sorry! I'll be back soon!"

Any reply he might have received was lost on the wind.

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><p>AN: This depressing little snapshot came from an image I got in my head while I was sitting in (surprise surprise) my World History class. I just had this pitiful image of Gilbert on one side of the Berlin Wall basically having a mental breakdown while Ludwig stood on the other side of the wall, at a complete loss as to how to comfort his brother. I suppose it might be a little OOC on Prussia's part, but at the same time, Russia can be scary whether you fear him or not. And Prussia kind of knows at this point that he doesn't have the power that he used to…

On another note, thank you to all who reviewed my first two stories! Unfortunately, I cannot give individual thanks to everyone because I have tons of coursework that is trying to eat me. Nevertheless, the warm reception made me quite happy!


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